Mr. Underhi l l ca me out from under hi s hi l l , s mi l i ng a nd brea thi ng ha rd. Ea ch brea th s hot out of hi s nos tri l s a s a doubl e puff of s tea m, s now-whi te i n the morni ng s uns hi ne. Mr. Underhi l l l ooked up a t the bri ght December s ky a nd s mi l ed wi der tha n ever, s howi ng s now-whi te teeth. Then he went down to the vi l l a ge.
“Morni ng, Mr. Underhi l l ,” s a i d the vi l l a gers a s he pa s s ed them i n the na rrow s treet between hous es wi th coni ca l , overha ngi ng roofs l i ke the fa t red ca ps of toa ds tool s . “Morni ng, morni ng!” he repl i ed to ea ch. (It wa s of cours e ba d l uck to wi s h a nyone a good morni ng; a s i mpl e s ta tement of the me of da y wa s qui te enough, i n a pl a ce s o permea ted wi th Influences a s Sa ns Is l a nd, where a ca rel es s a djec ve mi ght cha nge the wea ther for a week.) Al l of them s poke to hi m, s ome wi th a ffec on, s ome wi th a ffec ona te di s da i n. He wa s a l l the l i l e i s l a nd ha d i n the wa y of a wi za rd, a nd s o des erved res pect—but how coul d you res pect a l i l e fa t ma n of fi y who wa ddl ed a l ong wi th hi s toes turned i n, brea thi ng s tea m a nd s mi l i ng? He wa s no grea t s ha kes a s a workma n ei ther. Hi s fireworks were fa i rl y el a bora te but hi s el i xi rs were wea k. Wa rts he cha rmed off frequentl y rea ppea red a er three da ys ; toma toes he encha nted grew no bi gger tha n ca ntel oupes ; a nd thos e ra re mes when a s tra nge s hi p s topped a t Sa ns Ha rbor, Mr. Underhi l l a l wa ys s ta yed under hi s hi l l —for fea r, he expl a i ned, of the evi l eye. He wa s , i n other words , a wi za rd the wa y wa l l eyed Ga n wa s a ca rpenter: by defa ul t. The vi l l a gers ma de do wi th ba dl y-hung doors a nd i neffi ci ent s pel l s , for thi s genera ti on, a nd rel i eved thei r
a nnoya nce by trea ng Mr. Underhi l l qui te fa mi l i a rl y, a s a mere fel l ow-vi l l a ger. They even a s ked hi m to di nner. Once he a s ked s ome of them to di nner, a nd s erved a s pl endi d repa s t, wi th s i l ver, crys ta l , da ma s k, roa s t goos e, s pa rkl i ng Andra des ’639, a nd pl um puddi ng wi th ha rd s a uce; but he wa s s o nervous a l l through the mea l tha t i t took the joy out of i t, a nd bes i des , everybody wa s hungry a ga i n ha l f a n hour a erwa rd. He di d not l i ke a nyone to vi s i t hi s ca ve, not even the a nteroom, beyond whi ch i n fa ct nobody ha d ever got. When he s a w peopl e a pproa chi ng the hi l l he a l wa ys ca me tro ng out to meet them. “Let’s s i t out here under the pi ne trees !” he woul d s a y, s mi l i ng a nd wa vi ng towa rds the fir grove, or i f i t wa s ra i ni ng, “Let’s go ha ve a dri nk a t the i nn, eh?” though everybody knew he dra nk nothi ng s tronger tha n wel l -wa ter.
Some of the vi l l a ge chi l dren, tea s ed by tha t l ocked ca ve, poked a nd pri ed a nd ma de ra i ds whi l e Mr. Underhi l l wa s a wa y; but the s ma l l door tha t l ed i nto the i nner cha mber wa s s pel l -s hut, a nd i t s eemed for once to be a n effec ve s pel l . Once a coupl e of boys , thi nki ng the wi za rd wa s over on the Wes t Shore curi ng Mrs . Ruuna ’s s i ck donkey, brought a crowba r a nd a ha tchet up there, but a t the firs t wha ck of the ha tchet on the door there ca me a roa r of wra th from i ns i de, a nd a cl oud of purpl e s tea m. Mr. Underhi l l ha d got home ea rl y. The boys fled. He di d not come out, a nd the boys ca me to no ha rm, though they s a i d you coul dn’t bel i eve wha t a huge hooti ng howl i ng hi s s i ng horri bl e bel l ow tha t l i ttl e fa t ma n coul d ma ke unl es s you’d hea rd i t.
Hi s bus i nes s i n town thi s da y wa s three dozen fres h eggs a nd a pound of l i ver; a l s o a s top a t Sea ca pta i n Fogeno’s co a ge to renew the s eei ng-cha rm on the ol d ma n’s eyes (qui te us el es s when a ppl i ed to a ca s e of deta ched re na , but Mr. Underhi l l kept tryi ng), a nd fina l l y a cha t wi th ol d Goody Gul d, the concer na -ma ker’s wi dow. Mr. Underhi l l ’s fri ends were mos tl y ol d peopl e. He wa s mi d wi th the s trong young men of the vi l l a ge, a nd the gi rl s were s hy of hi m. “He ma kes me nervous , he s mi l es s o much,” they a l l s a i d, pou ng, twi s ng s i l ky ri ngl ets round a finger. “Nervous ” wa s a newfa ngl ed word, a nd thei r mothers a l l repl i ed gri ml y, “Nervous my foot, s i l l i nes s i s the word for i t. Mr. Underhi l l i s a very res pecta bl e wi za rd!”
A er l ea vi ng Goody Gul d, Mr. Underhi l l pa s s ed by the s chool , whi ch wa s bei ng hel d thi s da y out on the common. Si nce no one on Sa ns Is l a nd wa s l i tera te, there were no books to l ea rn to rea d from a nd no des ks to ca rve i ni a l s on a nd no bl a ckboa rds to era s e, a nd i n fa ct no s chool hous e. On ra i ny da ys the chi l dren met i n the l o of the Communa l Ba rn, a nd got ha y i n thei r pa nts ; on s unny da ys the s chool tea cher, Pa l a ni , took them a nywhere s he fel t l i ke. Toda y, s urrounded by thi rty i nteres ted chi l dren under twel ve a nd forty uni nteres ted s heep under five, s he wa s tea chi ng a n i mporta nt i tem on the curri cul um: the Rul es of Na mes . Mr. Underhi l l , s mi l i ng s hyl y, pa us ed to l i s ten a nd wa tch. Pa l a ni , a pl ump, pre y gi rl of twenty, ma de a cha rmi ng pi cture there i n the wi ntry s unl i ght, s heep a nd chi l dren a round her, a l ea fl es s oa k a bove her, a nd behi nd her the dunes a nd s ea a nd cl ea r, pa l e s ky. She s poke ea rnes tl y, her fa ce flus hed pi nk by wi nd a nd words . “Now you know the Rul es of Na mes a l rea dy, chi l dren. There a re two, a nd they’re the s a me on every i s l a nd i n the worl d. Wha t’s one of them?”
“It a i n’t pol i te to a s k a nybody wha t hi s na me i s ,” s houted a fa t, qui ck boy, i nterrupted by a l i l e gi rl s hri eki ng, “You ca n’t never tel l your own na me to nobody my ma s a ys !”
“Yes , Suba . Yes , Popi dea r, don’t s creech. Tha t’s ri ght. You never a s k a nybody hi s na me. You never tel l your own. Now thi nk a bout tha t a mi nute a nd then tel l me why we ca l l our wi za rd Mr. Underhi l l .” She s mi l ed a cros s the curl y hea ds a nd the wool l y ba cks a t Mr. Underhi l l , who bea med, a nd nervous l y cl utched hi s s a ck of eggs .
“ ’Ca us e he l i ves under a hi l l !” s a i d ha l f the chi l dren. “But i s i t hi s truena me?” “No!” s a i d the fa t boy, echoed by l i ttl e Popi s hri eki ng, “No!”
“How do you know i t’s not?”
“ ’Ca us e he ca me here a l l a l one a nd s o there wa s n’t a nybody knew hi s truena me s o they coul dn’t tel l , a nd he coul dn’t—” “Very good, Suba . Popi , don’t s hout. Tha t’s ri ght. Even a wi za rd ca n’t tel l hi s truena me. When you chi l dren a re through s chool a nd go through the Pa s s a ge, you’l l l ea ve your chi l dna mes behi nd a nd keep onl y your truena mes , whi ch you mus t never a s k for a nd never gi ve a wa y. Why i s tha t the rul e?”
The chi l dren were s i l ent. The s heep bl ea ted gentl y. Mr. Underhi l l a ns wered the ques on: “Beca us e the na me i s the thi ng,” he s a i d i n hi s s hy, s o , hus ky voi ce, “a nd the truena me i s the true thi ng. To s pea k the na me i s to control the thi ng. Am I ri ght, School mi s tres s ?”
She s mi l ed a nd curts eyed, evi dentl y a l i l e emba rra s s ed by hi s pa r ci pa on. And he tro ed off towa rds hi s hi l l , cl utchi ng hi s eggs to hi s bos om. Somehow the mi nute s pent wa tchi ng Pa l a ni a nd the chi l dren ha d ma de hi m very hungry. He l ocked hi s i nner door behi nd hi m wi th a ha s ty i nca nta on, but there mus t ha ve been a l ea k or two i n the s pel l , for s oon the ba re a nteroom of the ca ve wa s ri ch wi th the s mel l of fryi ng eggs a nd s i zzl i ng l i ver.
The wi nd tha t da y wa s l i ght a nd fres h out of the wes t, a nd on i t a t noon a l i l e boa t ca me s ki mmi ng the bri ght wa ves i nto Sa ns Ha rbor. Even a s i t rounded the poi nt a s ha rp-eyed boy s po ed i t, a nd knowi ng, l i ke every chi l d on the i s l a nd, every s a i l a nd s pa r of the forty boa ts of the fis hi ng fleet, he ra n down the s treet ca l l i ng out, “A forei gn boa t, a forei gn boa t!” Very s el dom wa s the l onel y i s l e vi s i ted by a boa t from s ome equa l l y l onel y i s l e of the Ea s t Rea ch, or a n a dventurous tra der from the Archi pel a go. By the me the boa t wa s a t the pi er ha l f the vi l l a ge wa s there to greet i t, a nd fis hermen were fol l owi ng i t homewa rds , a nd cowherds a nd cl a m-di ggers a nd herb-hunters were puffing up a nd down a l l the rocky hi l l s , hea di ng towa rds the ha rbor.
But Mr. Underhi l l ’s door s ta yed s hut.
There wa s onl y one ma n a boa rd the boa t. Ol d Sea -ca pta i n Fogeno, when they tol d hi m tha t, drew down a bri s tl e of whi te brows over hi s uns eei ng eyes . “There’s onl y one ki nd of ma n,” he s a i d, “tha t s a i l s the Outer
Rea ch a l one. A wi za rd, or a wa rl ock, or a Ma ge..
So the vi l l a gers were brea thl es s hopi ng to s ee for once i n thei r l i ves a Ma ge, one of the mi ghty Whi te Ma gi ci a ns of the ri ch, towered, crowded i nner i s l a nds of the Archi pel a go. They were di s a ppoi nted, for the voya ger wa s qui te young, a ha nds ome bl a ck-bea rded fel l ow who ha i l ed them cheerful l y from hi s boa t, a nd l ea ped a s hore l i ke a ny s a i l or gl a d to ha ve ma de port. He i ntroduced hi ms el f a t once a s a s ea -peddl a r. But when they tol d Sea ca pta i n Fogeno tha t he ca rri ed a n oa ken wa l ki ng-s ck a round wi th hi m, the ol d ma n nodded. “ Two wi za rds i n one town,” he s a i d. “Ba d!” And hi s mouth s na pped s hut l i ke a n ol d ca rp’s .
As the s tra nger coul d not gi ve them hi s na me, they ga ve hi m one ri ght a wa y: Bl a ckbea rd. And they ga ve hi m pl enty of a en on. He ha d a s ma l l mi xed ca rgo of cl oth a nd s a nda l s a nd pi s wi fea thers for tri mmi ng cl oa ks a nd chea p i ncens e a nd l evi ty s tones a nd fine herbs a nd grea t gl a s s bea ds from Venwa y—the us ua l peddl a r’s l ot. Everyone on Sa ns Is l a nd ca me to l ook, to cha t wi th the voya ger, a nd perha ps to buy s omethi ng—“Jus t to remember hi m by!” ca ckl ed Goody Gul d, who l i ke a l l the women a nd gi rl s of the vi l l a ge wa s s mi en wi th Bl a ckbea rd’s bol d good l ooks . Al l the boys hung round hi m too, to hea r hi m tel l of hi s voya ges to fa r, s tra nge i s l a nds of the Rea ch or des cri be the grea t ri ch i s l a nds of the Archi pel a go, the Inner La nes , the roa ds tea ds whi te wi th s hi ps , a nd the gol den roofs of Ha vnor. The men wi l l i ngl y l i s tened to hi s ta l es ; but s ome of them wondered why a tra der s houl d s a i l a l one, a nd kept thei r eyes thoughtful l y upon hi s oa ken s ta ff.
But a l l thi s ti me Mr. Underhi l l s ta yed under hi s hi l l .
“ Thi s i s the firs t i s l a nd I’ve ever s een tha t ha d no wi za rd,” s a i d Bl a ckbea rd one eveni ng to Goody Gul d, who ha d i nvi ted hi m a nd her nephew a nd Pa l a ni i n for a cup of rus hwa s h tea . “Wha t do you do when you get a tootha che, or the cow goes dry?”
“Why, we’ve got Mr. Underhi l l !” s a i d the ol d woma n.
“For wha t tha t’s worth,” mu ered her nephew Bi rt, a nd then bl us hed purpl e a nd s pi l l ed hi s tea . Bi rt wa s a fis herma n, a l a rge, bra ve, wordl es s young ma n. He l oved
the s chool mi s tres s , but the nea res t he ha d come to tel l i ng her of hi s l ove wa s to gi ve ba s kets of fres h ma ckerel to her fa ther’s cook.
“Oh, you do ha ve a wi za rd?” Bl a ckbea rd a s ked. “Is he i nvi s i bl e?”
“No, he’s jus t very s hy,” s a i d Pa l a ni . “You’ve onl y been here a week, you know, a nd we s ee s o few s tra ngers here....” She a l s o bl us hed a l i ttl e, but di d not s pi l l her tea .
Bl a ckbea rd s mi l ed a t her. “He’s a good Sa tti ns ma n, then, eh?”
“No,” s a i d Goody Gul d, “no more tha n you a re. Another cup, nevvy? keep i t i n the cup thi s me. No, my dea r, he ca me i n a l i l e bi t of a boa t, four yea rs a go wa s i t? jus t a da y a er the end of the s ha d run, I reca l l , for they wa s ta ki ng up the nets over i n Ea s t Creek, a nd Pondi Cowherd broke hi s l eg tha t very morni ng—five yea rs a go i t mus t be. No, four. No, five i t i s , ’twa s the yea r the ga rl i c di dn’t s prout. So he s a i l s i n on a bi t of a s l oop l oa ded ful l up wi th grea t ches ts a nd boxes a nd s a ys to Sea ca pta i n Fogeno, who wa s n’t bl i nd then, though ol d enough goodnes s knows to be bl i nd twi ce over, ‘I hea r tel l ,’ he s a ys , ‘you’ve got no wi za rd nor wa rl ock a t a l l , mi ght you be wa n ng one?’ ‘Indeed, i f the ma gi c’s whi te!’ s a ys the Ca pta i n, a nd before you coul d s a y cu l efis h Mr. Underhi l l ha d s e l ed down i n the ca ve under the hi l l a nd wa s cha rmi ng the ma nge off Goody Bel tow’s ca t. Though the fur grew i n grey, a nd ’twa s a n ora nge ca t. Queer-l ooki ng thi ng i t wa s a er tha t. It di ed l a s t wi nter i n the col d s pel l . Goody Bel tow took on s o a t tha t ca t’s dea th, poor thi ng, wors e tha n when her ma n wa s drowned on the Long Ba nks , the yea r of the l ong herri ng-runs , when nevvy Bi rt here wa s but a ba be i n pe coa ts .” Here Bi rt s pi l l ed hi s tea a ga i n, a nd Bl a ckbea rd gri nned, but Goody Gul d proceeded undi s ma yed, a nd ta l ked on ti l l ni ghtfa l l .
Next da y Bl a ckbea rd wa s down a t the pi er, s eei ng a er the s prung boa rd i n hi s boa t whi ch he s eemed to ta ke a l ong me fixi ng, a nd a s us ua l dra wi ng the ta ci turn Sa ns men i nto ta l k. “Now whi ch of thes e i s your wi za rd’s cra ?” he a s ked. “Or ha s he got one of thos e the
Ma ges fol d up i nto a wa l nut s hel l when they’re not us i ng i t?” “Na y,” s a i d a s tol i d fi s herma n. “She’s oop i n hi s ca ve, under hi l l .” “He ca rri ed the boa t he ca me i n up to hi s ca ve?”
“Aye. Cl ea r oop. I hel ped. Hea vi er a s l ea d s he wa s . Ful l oop wi th grea t boxes , a nd they ful l oop wi th books o’ s pel l s , he s a ys . Hea vi er a s l ea d s he wa s .” And the s tol i d fis herma n turned hi s ba ck, s i ghi ng s tol i dl y. Goody Gul d’s nephew, mendi ng a net nea rby, l ooked up from hi s work a nd a s ked wi th equa l s tol i di ty. “Woul d ye l i ke to meet Mr. Underhi l l , ma ybe?”
Bl a ckbea rd returned Bi rt’s l ook. Cl ever bl a ck eyes met ca ndi d bl ue ones for a l ong moment; then Bl a ckbea rd s mi l ed a nd s a i d, “Yes . Wi l l you ta ke me up to the hi l l , Bi rt?”
“Aye, when I’m done wi th thi s ,” s a i d the fis herma n. And when the net wa s mended, he a nd the Archi pel a ga n s et off up the vi l l a ge s treet towa rds the hi gh green hi l l a bove i t. But a s they cros s ed the common Bl a ckbea rd s a i d, “Hol d on a whi l e, fri end Bi rt. I ha ve a ta l e to tel l you, before we meet your wi za rd.”
“Tel l a wa y,” s a ys Bi rt, s i tti ng down i n the s ha de of a l i ve-oa k.
“It’s a s tory tha t s ta rted a hundred yea rs a go, a nd i s n’t fini s hed yet—though i t s oon wi l l be, very s oon.... In the very hea rt of the Archi pel a go, where the i s l a nds crowd thi ck a s fli es on honey, there’s a l i l e i s l e ca l l ed Pendor. The s ea l ords of Pendor were mi ghty men, i n the ol d da ys of wa r before the Lea gue. Loot a nd ra ns om a nd tri bute ca me pouri ng i nto Pendor, a nd they ga thered a grea t trea s ure there, l ong a go. Then from s omewhere a wa y out i n the Wes t Rea ch, where dra gons breed on the l a va i s l es , ca me one da y a very mi ghty dra gon. Not one of thos e overgrown l i za rds mos t of you Outer Rea ch fol k ca l l dra gons , but a bi g, bl a ck, wi nged, wi s e, cunni ng mons ter, ful l of s trength a nd s ubtl ety, a nd l i ke a l l dra gons l ovi ng gol d a nd preci ous s tones a bove a l l thi ngs . He ki l l ed the Sea l ord a nd hi s s ol di ers , a nd the peopl e of Pendor fled i n thei r s hi ps by ni ght. They a l l fled a wa y a nd